


i know i'm a villain, but you're the one who lies.

by dre_amer



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Author is a Clay | Dream Apologist (Video Blogging RPF), Backstory, Clay | Dream Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Emotionally Repressed, Gen, How Do I Tag, Hurt, Hurt Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt No Comfort, IM FUCKING STRUGGLIGN, Mentioned GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), No Beta We Die Like Endermen, No Fluff, Not Beta Read, Prisoner Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Purposeful Villain Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Resurrected Wilbur Soot, Villain Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), backstory - freeform, dream doesn't try to help himself, enjoy the pain im so burned out help, im so fucking tired, no comfort either :), no fluff here for you lmao, no happy ending, only angst, past dreambur, second entry for the competition, second entry for the dream angst competition!, wilbur tries to help dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:15:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29481315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dre_amer/pseuds/dre_amer
Summary: Dream is the villain, just like he planned.So why does Wilbur keep trying to save him?TW // unintentional self harm (it comes in the form of dream slamming his fist against obsidian and digging his nails into his arms) , purposeful villainization of self .
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Wilbur Soot, Clay | Dream/Wilbur Soot
Comments: 23
Kudos: 333





	i know i'm a villain, but you're the one who lies.

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [100 dnb Angst Prompts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28833102) by [Kaalia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaalia/pseuds/Kaalia). 



> im so fucking tired please help me someone
> 
> yeaaaaaaah so this is a songfic(?) for the second round of the writing competition in the ghost dream/dream angst discord server lmao
> 
> based off the song "hero n villain duet" by natalie chavez on youtube!!
> 
> disclaimer for the "dream apologist" tag — i don't agree with dsmp!dream's actions, and i'm not excusing them at all; i just think he's a very interesting character and i want to write about his backstory. the hc that dream did all of this shit so he could be the villain in l'manberg/the SMP's history is just. mwah. chefs fucking kiss 
> 
> i also added dreambur because i like that ship uwu (and also because i originally planned for this to be dnb and then techno was sO fuckin ooc and i needed a replacement ahahahaha)
> 
> another reminder about the trigger warnings — here's they are:  
> TW // unintentional self harm (it comes in the form of dream slamming his fist against obsidian and digging his nails into his arms) , purposeful villainization of self .  
> i believe that's it, but do tell me in the comments if i missed any!!
> 
> also this kind of,, very loosely describes this fic lmao
> 
> "Left: Villain trying to redeem themselves/Hero who’s made some mistakes, buts willing to sacrifice anything for right 
> 
> Right: Broken Hero with nothing left to lose, so they throw away their reputation/Villain who’s tired of having the hero trying to save them." 
> 
> mm anyway yes, enjoy!! i suffered through so much pain writing this aaaahhahaa
> 
> [also!! the bolder words are the actual lyrics to the song, taken directly from one of the lyric websites. hope you all have a good read :DD]

Dream curls his arms around his sternum, a dangerously familiar emotion he’d sworn off making its appearance in the form of burning needles jabbing themselves into his eyes. He wonders for a brief moment if the blurriness in his vision is from tears or just a physical impairing. 

Dream decides that it is just a severe side effect of staring into the lava for too long — hours on end — without break. It is safer that way. 

He glances up at the curtain of lava absentmindedly, startling in the realization that he isn’t alone anymore. The slow-falling fabric of bright liquid flames have parted, streams of the molten fire shifting apart to reveal- 

Oh. 

Dream stares at the fluffy brown hair bouncing in soft curls and pressed into a burgundy beanie, at the tiny marks on his nose where his thin, round glasses have sat before, at the familiar trench coat that brings back an unwelcome rush of memories. The emotions stem a little, though, when Dream spots a yellow sweater underneath. And then they well up again. 

Wilbur is here — the newly revived Wilbur, resurrected by a ritual long forgotten. Dream doesn’t know which Wilbur this is, so he stays back and eyes the newcomer warily. 

He unconsciously brings his hands together in his lap, twisting and cracking and popping his fingers nervously before realizing what he is doing and pressing his palms into his thighs, restricting them from doing anything else unwanted. Fiddling and fidgeting with his hands has always been a nervous tic of his, something he had done on instinct when he was anxious. Dream is sure Wilbur knows that, and so he can’t do it in front of him. 

Or perhaps Wilbur has forgotten. Forced himself to forget.

Dream wouldn’t blame him — sometimes he wants to reach into his own mind and claw everything inside it, to scratch out the parts of his memory and taunt and haunt him late at what Dream assumes to be night. He wouldn’t know. Would never know. 

Dream keeps his eyes fixed on the obsidian floor in front of him, dulled jade orbs refusing to look up or acknowledge Wilbur’s presence. It is only when the brunette crosses into the cell and crouches in front of Dream, hand sliding under his chin to tilt the blonde’s face up so that Dream looks up with a faint glare. 

Wilbur’s dark brown irides are much softer than what insane Wilbur’s had been — the person in front of him has rounded, gentle eyes, so much unlike the splintered, shattered and haunted eyes of the Wilbur that had destroyed all he loved.

 **“What are you doing, my dear? Aren’t you tired?”**

Dream grinds his teeth together at the sound of Wilbur’s voice — the very one he has ached to hear for so long — and shoves the brunette’s hand away, turning his head in the other direction at the same time. **“What are** **_you_ ** **doing here? I don’t think you were invited.”**

Wilbur’s lips curl into a soft grin, hand drifting back up to press his fingers against Dream’s sharp, cut-glass jaw. “I don’t need to be to see my lover, Dream.” 

Dream doesn’t like this Wilbur. He’s too soft, too quiet and gentle and has too much genuine affection in his features and actions. The entire reason why Dream had gotten with Wilbur while he was still falling into the grips of insanity had been to chase away the ugly feelings that had trapped themselves in his chest, and yet wanted to claw their way out of his body. 

**“Here you go again, pretending like you love me,”** Dream hisses, snapping his head to create more space between his cheek and Wilbur’s lovely and disgusting warm hands, **“when just beneath the surface you’re convinced that you’re above me.”**

A frown makes its way onto Wilbur’s lips, the plane of his mouth tilting down ever-so-slightly, and Dream feels a heavy delight in his chest. The Wilbur he knows best — cold, distant, and neglectful — is making an appearance back in his rightful place. With Dream, and all of his fucked up shit. 

But then Wilbur sighs, reaches up to push a lock of dirty blonde hair behind Dream’s ear, and the younger feels a choking, tightening feeling in his chest. Dream isn’t sure if it’s panic or not. 

He takes it as panic. It’s safer that way. 

**“Dig deep into the past,** Dream. I have never thought of you that way.” Ever-so-lovingly and sickeningly, Wilbur takes ahold of Dream’s hand and folds his scarred fingers between his own pale, calloused hands. 

“Then why are you here? To kill me? To save me?” The questions are spat like fire charges towards Wilbur, who doesn’t flinch. Dream envies him sometimes. His fingers tremble in their encasing of Wilbur’s hands. “You’ll leave in the end. They always do.”

His voice quivers slightly with the last few statements, and _god,_ does Dream want to be stricken dead at that very moment. That would be a much better thing to suffer through than having to deal with- with whatever Wilbur is trying to do. 

“Darling, **I’ve never been one for doing things half-assed. If I’m here to save you, I’ll be here forever.”** Wilbur leans forward and his lips brush Dream’s masked forehead. Such a light touch, such a bruising and stinging one. **“Just take my hand, and I’ll be your knight in shining armor.”**

It’s disgustingly soft, the fleeting feeling of Wilbur’s familiar mouth that Dream can feel through his mask. 

He briefly wonders if the mask is a mistake. 

Dream immediately shakes off that thought and lets a small shudder ripple throughout his body. What a horrid thought it is, wondering if his precious mask had been a mistake. No, no, the mask was the only thing that had kept all of them safe when Dream couldn’t (he never could). Dream safe from others, others safe from him. 

Rage bubbles up inside him at the thought of regarding the mask as a mistake, something that was never meant to exist — no, that wasn’t his mask, that was him — and Dream lets it stew for a little while longer, gathering all the flecks and bits before biting his bottom lip and releasing the festering words into the air. 

**“You think you’re a hero?”** Dream snaps, ripping his hands away. His next words are intertwined with a scoff of scorn and derision. **“And, of course, they’ll tell you you are. So stoic and handsome, and you‘ve come so far!”**

  
_Even though Wilbur has done as much as Dream, done things worser than Dream, he is still praised and looked upon as a hero._

_What does Dream have to do in order to achieve that? Does he have to die and become like Ghostbur? Would that make people feel bad enough to love him once again?_

_Would anyone even care?_  
  


Wilbur frowns, once again, at the mocking tone Dream’s voice has taken on. It’s pitchy, a little hysterical. Perhaps Dream has fallen victim to the same thorny throes as he himself had. 

The older tightens his grip on Dream’s wrist — since when had he grabbed ahold of the blonde’s arm again? — and grits his teeth. He can’t let that happen, and so Wilbur just says soothingly, gently, as if treating a child- 

**“You think you’re a villain, but I know you’re not.”**

Dream tenses minutely. Wilbur notices and clutches his forearm tighter, shoving his shoulder into the lines and not simply toeing the border, but pushing it beyond sustainability as he says, **“Under all that angst and anger is a-”**

The blonde before him seems to finally snap, cracking and shattering and splintering into irreparable shimmering sand, crying out: **_“Dying broken heart-”_ ** just as Wilbur grinds out, **“Beating human heart-”**

 **“And what about the lonely little boy?”** Dream snarls immediately, tears already starting to gleam in the corners of his beautiful, stark eyes. Wilbur stiffens at the sight of them — Dream has never cried in front of anyone else, has never dared to show any kind of emotional devastation publicly. All of his tears, his sorrows and pains, had been released whilst Dream was tucked away in the corners and protected by the shadows. 

The panic is what pushes Wilbur to say, loudly, **"I'm sorry!"**

Dream jerks away from his words, as if they're scalding and burning and scorching, and he snaps: **"What about his monsters who prevailed?"**

Wilbur stumbles back a little, feet rocking uncertainly from heels and then onto toes, pale fingers lingering and floating in the air. Dream scrambles back from them, pushing his back into the obsidian wall and tightening his jaw, pressing his palms into his scratched-up, worn jade eyes. 

**"I-I'm sorry!"** Wilbur repeats, frantic panic ripping at his chest and drawing in the space in his body, tightening and tearing and shrieking until all Wilbur can see is Dream, cowering and shaking and trembling and sobbing and screaming deafeningly while everyone surrounds him with their swords drawn and eyes cold and- 

**"You never came to save my world,"** Dream spits, lowering his hands and curling his knees up to his chest. He would’ve pushed himself up and rushed to the furthest corner of the prison if not for the relentless trembling of his weak, powerless body. “No one ever did, Wilbur.” 

Wilbur protests, feet shuffling back and forth as he barely restrains himself from lunging at Dream and shaking some sense into his former — former? — lover. “But- Dream, you can’t just- **what about us?”**

**“WHAT ABOUT** **_ME?”_ ** Dream shouts, hands that were previously raised to his face now dropped to his sides and clenched into fists. His nails cut into his skin far too easily, but Dream doesn’t notice. “What about- what about all the things they- you- never even bothered to hear? Never bothered to see, even when I screamed and waved them right in front of your face?” 

Dream’s half-sobbing, half-yelling words are not the worst part. Neither is the way Wilbur stumbles back and nearly trips, as if physically slapped in the face by Dream’s voice. 

No, the worst part is the fact that Wilbur remembers. 

He remembers what Dream is talking about. He remembers when Dream had come to him during the middle of preparations for the presidential election of L’Manberg, limping and bruised and exhausted, looking for a person to stay with for-   
  


_“Just five minutes,” Dream says. It sounds like he is pleading, but he is not. No, that would be a horridly human and foolish thing for Dream to do — beg, and for companionship of all things — but Wilbur can’t help he sounds a little like he is._

_“Go bother your friends, Dream.” Wilbur turns away, mind already flitting from this interaction to what he will do next — plan his presidential speech, stroll around in his newly formed nation with much pride, and frolic with his friends and family while ignoring the very person drowning and floundering in front of his eyes. “I’m busy.”_

_Wilbur does not see Dream’s flinch, and he does not see the blonde turn stiffly and walk away and face the cold, icy world on his own again, but he knows he has._

_The soon-to-be president chooses to ignore it, as always._

  
Wilbur remembers the time, just a few months ago, when George and Sapnap had first snapped at him. He had simply watched as Ghostbur, as a bystander, muddled mind unable to comprehend what had been going on at that time. He regrets it. He regrets it so much. 

_  
_ _“Do you even like us, Dream?” The accented words are darts, thrown haphazardly and yet somehow burying their sharp point deep into the target. “Just say you hate us. Just say you hate me. Do it, Dream.”_

_Wilbur can’t help but think it is a little unfair, how George shoves Dream into a corner like this. Surely the Brit knows how the blonde feels for him — or does he? It would be worse if he did._

_“What- no, I don’t hate you, George, what do you mean? I’m- I’m just trying to protect you.”_

_Wilbur winces at the barely distinguishable wavering of Dream’s voice as the blonde steps back a little, hand creeping towards the handle of his axe and eyes flicking nervously between George and Sapnap. One of them has a bow out, arrow aimed right at Dream’s mask._

_“If you really liked him, Dream, then you wouldn’t have demoted him.” Sapnap’s familiar voice, once cheery and upbeat, is now dull and quiet. Wilbur sees Dream’s flinch._

_“I’m not- I’m not_ demoting _him, Sapnap, I just- I’m trying to protect him! He doesn’t- George is in danger as king because he’s tied to me. So it only makes sense to have Eret as king, to keep George safe. Don’t you see?”_

_The desperation in Dream’s voice is leaking out, slowly becoming more noticeable. Wilbur doesn’t think Dream’s friends are convinced, even though his explanation makes complete sense to him. He stays silent, though, and watches as the shit goes down while shadows prowl around him and hide his bulky figure._

_“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Sapnap mutters after a few tense moments of silence. He turns on his heel, fingers clutching the hilt of his sword and knuckles whitening from the force of his grip. “C’mon, George.”_

_The Brit gives one final derisive stare before walking off with Sapnap, mumbling between themselves as Dream stares from the back. His shoulders are already beginning to slump, mask already beginning to tilt and loosen and crumble as he collapses and drops to his knees._

_Wilbur just watches and stays silent in the shadows._

  
Dream has retreated even further into the corner, one hand pressed against his mouth to muffle the broken sobs that threaten to escape, banging on the roof of his mouth, and the other gripping his arm, blunt and bitten down nails digging into his pale flesh. Wilbur lets out a concerned noise, body moving before his mind has the time to catch up. 

He peels Dream’s hand away from his bloodied arm, murmuring and pushing down his own emotions that rise and swell like high tides, **“I recognize that you’re upset. I know-”**

**“Oh, you know nothing of me,”** Dream hisses, words a little stifled by his palm against his cracked lips. Wilbur ignores his intrusion, continuing with his hopefully reassuring speech that he’s not sure he believes himself. 

**“-they did you wrong, but trust me, please believe me — this won’t stop the hurt for long.”**

Dream scoffs, yanking his arm out of Wilbur’s grasp once again. The brunette feels himself losing hope — perhaps there is no saving this man? — but then he sees the angry, frustrated way he swipes at his face and at his tears, sees the way Dream stares at the wetness — the tears — on his hands as if he’s stunned, sees the way his eyes flicker for a brief moment, looking ever so lost and scared, and Wilbur believes. 

**“We don’t need to end like this! Look me in the eyes,** Dream.” Wilbur cups Dream’s face, knowing very well that the blonde will probably bite his fingers off and shriek at him for daring to touch his face. 

But all Dream does is grit his teeth and mutter, **“Here comes the hero complex.”**

Wilbur pays no heed to the remark, saving his breath and energy to tell Dream the rest of his words. **“You call yourself a villain-”**

 **“I** **_know_ ** **I’m a villain-”**

**“-but we know it’s a disguise.”**

**“-BUT** ** _YOU’RE_ ** **THE ONE WHO LIES!”**

Wilbur has to laugh at that, the noise sounding high-pitched and strangled, like Dream’s words are curling around his throat like ribbons of lovely, deadly lace and Wilbur doesn’t even notice. _“I’m_ the one who lies? Me?” 

Dream grinds his jaw shut, shoving away Wilbur’s hands from his face and rasping out: **“So you’re back at it again,** Wilbur? **Twisting and manipulating every word I’ve said,** like everyone else.” 

**“Come on** now,” Wilbur protests again, the edge in his voice gone, **“you know that’s not true. I’m just trying to help you-”**

**“YOU ARE NOT MY HERO!** ” Dream snarls. His hands itch for the handle of a weapon again, yearns for the feeling of burgundy blood drying against his skin, and he stuffs them into his lap as Wilbur tips forward and grabs his tense shoulders. 

**“Let me help you!”** Wilbur pleads. Dream flinches away. 

**“You don’t know how it felt,”** he hisses, tucking his legs up to his chest. Dream’s voice warbles the tiniest bit, wavers and trembles like his lip. **“What else could you** — what else could _I_ — **have done with the cards that I’ve been dealt?”**

**“You are not the villain,”** Wilbur repeats. “You didn’t have a choice — **you once held my hand!”**

Dream bares his teeth in a smile, the shining, splintered edges of his lips cracking as they twist stiffly. He flicks Wilbur’s hand between with a single finger, and the brunette’s fingers slide off his shoulders. **“Stand up,** Wilbur. **Get out.”**

The once-hero, once-villain listens, standing numbly as his arms fall limp at his side. Dream’s mouth presses closed, lips sliding over his teeth. He tilts his head, the lines at the corner of his eyes becoming more pronounced. All the sudden, Dream looks so much older, so much more weighed down by everything that’s been shoved onto his battered, bruised shoulders. 

Things that have been placed there by his family, his friends, his lovers and his enemies. 

**“Sometimes things don’t go as planned.”**

_‘No, they don’t,’_ Wilbur thinks distantly. _‘They never do.’_

He leaves, but just before he steps over the netherite blocks, Wilbur pauses. A small mumble is heard, and when Dream catches the words, a choked feeling spreads up from his chest to his throat. The burn worsens when the brunette tosses a single glance back at him, warm brown eyes crinkling in such a heartbreakingly familiar way. 

And then Wilbur leaves, and Dream is alone once again. As is expected. As had been planned. 

* * *

Dream is the villain. He has chosen to be one, a long time ago, when the entire server had been set against each other and ready to tear themselves apart. 

He does not regret his choice. They had required a villain, and Wilbur’s era — however effective — had already passed. Dream is okay with being antagonized, with being seen as the villain and only the villain. He is okay with the cutting words thrown at him, the harsh kicks and punches thrown at his worn body, the bruises and injuries that splash over his pale skin and throb, a constant reminder of his failure and success. Dream is fine with those. 

What does _not_ sit well with him, however, is the Wilbur’s persistence. The unrelenting determination that shines in the older brunette’s eyes makes something in Dream’s chest flutter, something he thought he had killed off and buried a long time ago — and Dream hates him for it. 

Dream hates the way the tears fall, slipping down his cheeks, unbidden and uninvited. He hates the way his body aches and throbs, not only from the reminders of his failures and successes but also from the lingering phantom touches that Wilbur had placed onto his skin ever-so-gently. 

He hates the way Wilbur makes him wonder and think if, just maybe, Dream can be saved too. If he can be redeemed, if he can be loved with his sins erased away and forgotten. 

Dream cannot — _will_ not — be saved. He has planned this from the start; he will be the villain until he takes his last, rattling breath. 

_**'Sometimes things don't go as planned.'**_

No, no, that's not true. Sometimes things do go as planned, and that is now.   
  


Dream is the villain, just like he has planned. 

**Author's Note:**

> didn't mention this in the beginning notes but i first got this idea from like,, big k and their angst prompts ideas!! like i had the idea before but it was really cemented by chapter 28 of their fic LMAO so *finger guns* go check it out their writing is so very poggers trust me 
> 
> now that that's over with, time to scream about hOW FUCKING LONG THIS TOOK AND HOW MUCH PAIN IT CAUSED ME HGALSKDJFASLDJHGKLSDF ASKF DJ HGNGSDLKJDKSFJ PAOFEWKFM NSDKFJAPSODFJ 
> 
> okay im done now its time to talk about the idea i was trying to convey with this fic but couldn't because im emotionally repressed and my ability to write has fucking poofed into thin air like dream's relationships and attachments ahahaha 
> 
> so basically i got way too attached to the idea of dream just. purposefully becoming the villain in order to reunite everyone else. and that's literally his backstory for me lmao 
> 
> dream's basically tired of wilbur constantly trying to come and save/redeem him, because he can't be (or that's what he believes). tbh this fic has a LOT of room for like,, a happy ending? in a sequel/second chapter that i m ay or ma y n o t wri t e eehe e ehehe e 
> 
> so yeye! there's the fic, hopefully it wasn't too shitty. make sure to take care of yourself and stay safe!! mwahh love you all <33


End file.
